


Sona of the Great Sea

by betsy_malfoy



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Breaking Out Of Prison, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Strong Female Characters, creepy coincidences, the quest for the Silmarils is officially complete, unexpected gender change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25475779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betsy_malfoy/pseuds/betsy_malfoy
Summary: He calls himself Jailbird, and has spent hundreds of years being a willing prisoner in Minas Tirith. He is bored, so he agrees to sing a song for a servant child who snuck into his tower. He never imagined that a small step would bring him on a long road and, eventually, to the completion of his lifelong quest.This story was inspired by Jailbird, written by JazTheBard ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/25222621/chapters/61136752) They put Maglor into jail and gave him a fitting nickname. I only helped him to break out:)
Relationships: Maglor/Original Character
Kudos: 39





	Sona of the Great Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Jailbird](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25222621) by [JazTheBard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazTheBard/pseuds/JazTheBard). 



> This is to thank JazTheBard for writing a beautiful story that took my sleep away.

When the door creaked, he was on the floor, on his knees, a large hand-drawn map in front of him, several open books on his left and right. A collection of intricately carved wooden figurines was displayed across the map. He was re-enacting a war he hadn't fought. He surely wasn't expecting any visitors. 

“Come another day!” he called loudly and hoped it would work.

Somebody behind his back, whoever it was, climbed on the chair, the only piece of furniture on the tiny landing in front of his room, and clearly was enjoying the view. He could feel that gaze. Absolutely shameless. Waiting for his next movement. He slowly turned, taking a deep breath preparing for a long and eloquent tirade, and then he saw her. It was a child who distracted him from the only thing he found to occupy himself with in the last few days. A servant girl, by the looks of her clothes. A brown high waisted dress, too short in her ankles, made for a working child. Sturdy brown boots. The rest was white: her apron, her socks, even her bonnet sitting on top of the unruly black curls. He softened. Just a little bit. 

“It is a long way from where you were going, young lady,” he said.

“Are you the Jailbird?” 

Cold welcome did nothing to discourage her. Same curious expression on the round face with chubby cheeks. He gave out a silent sigh and shuffled a little bit, turning to sit face to face with his unwanted guest.

“I am indeed,” he said. “And who are you, if I may ask?”

“I'm Sona of the Great Sea,” she said readily. “I was found by the seashore, that's why I got this name.”

“And you came all the way up here just to meet me?”

She nodded, clearly missing the irony.

“Your voice is so sweet,” said Sona. “I hear you every morning when I bring meals to the guards.”

“Thank you, you are very kind, my lady,” he imitated a deep bow, and the girl laughed. “Would you like me to sing you a song?”

“Yes, please!”

“What kind of song would you like to hear?”

Sona went totally still for a moment.

“Do you know any old songs?”

It was difficult to hide a smile, but he was sure he did a pretty decent job.

“How old would suit you, my lady?”

“The oldest song! The first song ever!” she clapped her little hands and leaned forward, so impatiently, waiting for his reply. A good performer as he was, the Jailbird took a long pause, pretending to be rummaging through his memory. 

“Unfortunately, only few know the very first song, and I am not one of them. But I do know a very nice song that came shortly after that one. Would you like to hear it?”

The girl nodded, her eyes on him, rose mouth half-opened in silent awe. He got up and went to fetch his lute. Then perched on his table, littered with more books and some trinkets brought to him by the long succession of everchanging Stewards. He brushed the strings, checking the sound, and started to play. It really was a nice song. Simple, but he rarely performed it, because it joggled too many memories. Good memories. Which made it only more difficult to look at them. But this time it was worth the price. She wasn't supposed to be here, yet she came because she liked his mid-dawn humming. 

Sona listened with her eyes closed. Obviously, she didn't recognize even a word he was singing, but her heart was open to the melody, and he could see that she understood every twist of the story he told her. When it was over, it took her a few moments to wake up to reality. Sona opened her eyes, and he saw an expression of sheer delight on her face. And then she said it.

“You are Makalaure,” she said. “Your name is Makalaure.”

He gently lowered the lute to the floor leaning it against a table leg.

“Where did you hear this name?” 

Sona shrugged and opened her arms widely, a gesture so childish and unabashed. 

“Someone called you, and I heard it. He had red hair.”

“When did it happen?”

“Right now, when you were singing this lovely song. I saw it so clearly, as if it happened in front of my own eyes. Mother says, I imagine things, but...”

The sigils on the walls of his prison protected him from the foresight of those who were far away, but little good did they now, when Sona was already inside of their grim circle.

“You must promise me, Sona, that this particular name will stay our secret,” he said firmly. “It must not be mentioned again.”

She nodded solemnly, finally impressed by the seriousness of his tone. 

He had been guarding this secret for three thousand years, and she discovered it in a matter of minutes. Just who are you, little girl?

“Thank you for the song, Jailbird. I'll see you later!”

Sona was gone. Eight years passed, before she came to his tower again.

***** 

He heard her quick light steps at the top of the winding staircase, and then she came in. Her dress was dark blue, and this time it almost covered her shoes. The bonnet was gone along with her childhood days. Sona's black hair fell almost to her thighs, an embroidered ribbon on her forehead kept loose strands under control. Her perfect white skin was almost glowing, her ears were slightly pointed. Eight years ago she looked like an ordinary human child. He looked at her now and saw nothing human. 

Sona pressed herself into the bars, separating his room from the tiny landing she was standing on, and he noticed that her eyes were wide open, her pretty scarlet mouth squeezed into a lopsided line. A maiden in distress. 

“Do you remember me?” she asked.

“Hello, Sona,” said the Jailbird. 

Her features softened, as if she was relieved to hear her name coming out of his lips. 

“Hello, Jailbird,” said Sona. “I'm sorry, I was rude. But I'm lost, I'm so lost.”

“Why would you say so, my lady?” he decided that a bit of light humour would certainly help. 

“I'm sixteen, Jailbird. I'm sixteen, and my parents are marrying me off. It's all because of my foresight and my premonitions. They found someone who wants to use it. I really should have listened to my mother and learned to keep my mouth shut!”

That was bad. He frowned. Sona was too young to get married. Three thousands years ago most mortal women took a husband when they were in their early twenties. Could the world have changed that much? Or was it more likely that Sona's unusual abilities attracted too much attention. Anyway, her groom to be didn't deserve her. Not if he clearly was trying to take Sona against her will. 

“I am truly sorry to hear it,” he said slowly. “Is there anything you can do?”

She shook her head.

“I'm sixteen, and I'm unmarried. I would need my father's permission to get a job, and without the job I have no money. I can't rent a room, I have nowhere to go, and even if I do, he can bring me back. It is his right.”

“This sounds very unfair,” said the Jailbird. 

Did she come to ask him for money? Surely, he had a few knick-knacks that could be sold quite easily. He even had a bag to fit them in.

“You are the only one who can save me, Jailbird,” said Sona. “Marry me. I will become a woman in her own rights, I will find a job, I will learn so many things, I will see the world, all thanks to you...”

She didn't want his money. She wanted her freedom. 

“How can I marry anyone?” he said increduously. “I am in jail.”

“Yes, it does make it more difficult to elope with you,” she giggled nervously. “But on the other hand, all it takes is your word. Or a letter from you. I will go to the Steward, he listens to his people every Friday, and ask him to acknowledge our marriage. He already did it for so many couples who married against their parents' wishes.”

“We are not a couple, Sona,” he said softly. “And we will never be. You don't like the man your family found for you, but what if you have a change of heart? What if they find someone else? What if you meet someone who can actually run away with you? Asking me to marry you, you are choosing the man who can never become your husband. Oh, Sona, you are going to miss out on so many things!”

“Says the man who chose to stay in a tower for three thousand years!”

She glowered at him for a moment, then lowered her eyes.

“I'm sorry, Jailbird. I shouldn't have said it.”

She was truly sorry, not because she just ruined whatever phantom chance she had with him, which she would have if he were someone else. For example, one of his brothers, or just any man who gets a marriage proposal and a giant thorn into his backside from the same woman at the same time.

“You are right, Sona. Both times. I threw my life out of that window behind my back, but you have no business telling it into my face.” 

He noticed her lower lip started to quiver. Sona wasn't like any other woman who wasn't in love with her fiancee. She was the biggest puzzle he had encountered in three thousand years. He never met the man she wanted to be saved from, but he really doubted it was someone who deserved a girl who looked like an Elven princess and had a powerful gift of foresight. A mystery that the Jailbird wanted to solve himself.

“Give me your left hand, Sona,” he said.

She looked at him with eyes already wet, then silently obeyed.

“My magic is very constrainted now, but I can still put this spell on you,” he took her hand, pulled her sleeve up to the elbow and gently rubbed her soft skin. “After I finish, no man but me will ever be able to touch you. Is this what you want, Sona?”

She nodded, a glimpse of hope in her face. He lightly squeezed the hand he was holding and started to sing. It had been a while since he had used any songs of power. A long, long while. But he was still capable of something that simple. A tiny spell that won't be unbound even after his death. Sona clearly expressed her wish, and the Jailbird was following it to a tee. 

The spell didn't leave a mark on her forearm, instead it carved itself into her bones, too deep for anyone to ever get it out of her. When he finished, her skin was glowing as if Sona was filled with starlight. No mortal could ever glow like that.

***** 

Sona was sitting on the chair in front of the bars and staring at the list of paper lying on a small table on his side. They were playing a simple game of dots, and it wasn't looking good for her. The Jailbird didn't need to look at the paper, he already knew his moves five steps ahead, so he was looking at his wife. The one he took in the mortal realm. Sona was wearing a multilayered dress combining different shades of blue. Her hairstyle changed again. She braided her hair and made an ornate bun at the back of her head. Her wedding bracelet, that she bought herself, weighed on her left wrist. The Jailbird silently approved of her choice. Some good weight of pure silver adorned with a nice pattern common for Minas Tirith. If it had been really his gift, it would have been handcrafted. By him, of course. Sona didn't ask him to make even the plainest wedding gift and she didn't buy an item that could be passed as Elvish craft. To someone who had never seen a real thing, of course. The Jailbird liked her for that. 

Sona thrived as a librarian's assistant in the Royal library. The only woman allowed to work with priceless books. Obviously, she wasn't to go near anything too ancient, partly to protect fragile scrolls, partly because she was his wife, and who knows what she might get up to, but Sona hardly noticed any discrimination aimed at her. She was happy, and he liked it. She visited him every Saturday evening, totally oblivious to the grins the guards gave her every time she came onto the tiny landing accompanied by one of them. Sona looked as if she was immune to minor annoyances. Yet another reason to like her. 

Today she seemed distracted. Not troubled, but something clearly was on her mind. Something she didn't want to talk about, or on the contrary, something she wanted to tell, but didn't know how. It was to be expected, he thought. A young beautiful woman, finally free from her father's dictate, surely she needs a company in her life, apart from a friend in a tower. It had been eight years since he put a spell on her. Could it be that Sona finally met the consequences of her rushed choice? Could it be so bad that she even lost her sleep over it? She didn't look well lately. 

She sighed and looked at him. 

“I can't do it anymore. I need to tell you,” she said. 

“I am listening,” he said calmly. 

No man but him, not ever, that was the deal she agreed to. That was what she asked him to do. To protect her freedom. Forever.

“I need to leave Minas Tirith,” said Sona. “And I need you to come with me.”

“I am still in jail,” said the Jailbird. “I cannot go anywhere.”

“That's why you are breaking out.”

She put her hand into her modest cleavage, shuffled a little bit, all the time looking into his eyes, then pulled out a small black bundle. She put it on the forgotten game of dots, and he saw it was a thin rope. Even a cord. It was black and slick...

“I wove it from my own hair,” she said simply. “It's long enough to get you to the ground, and it's very strong. I'll be waiting for you shortly after midnight. Don't worry about the guards, they will be fast asleep.”

“How long did it take you to make it?” he asked, staring at the bundled cord. It looked uncannily alive. 

“Two weeks,” she said. “I put a spell on my hair, and it grew really fast.”

“Why did not you just buy one?”

She shrugged.

“Spies. And humans simply don't make thin cords that would hold a grown man's weight.”

Sona left after a brief goodbye. He hid the cord on his own chest and sat at his working table, as cluttered as ever. He didn't tell her that particular story, she never even asked! Sona wasn't very interested in ancient times, she had too many projects going on in the present. Then why of all things did she make a rope out of her own shiny black hair? Why did she make it for _him_? Was it a bad joke or a sign of the impending Doom? Why would the last son of Feanaro receive the same rope as Luthien used to escape from her treehouse prison? 

Too many questions, but it was a road ahead of him, and it was calling. He thought again about the blackness under Sona's eyes. Could she be so tired from the spell casting? Oh, that silly girl. Somebody had to look after her, and clearly that was to be him. In the midnight he tied one end of the rope to the bars that were keeping him inside for centuries, and left the room through the second exit. His window was never fortified in any way. 

He pulled the cord, and its soft coils fell on his head. The Jailbird was out of his cage. He looked up and for the first time in many years saw stars above his head. Everything felt so different. The ground was harder that the floor in his cell. The smells were richer than whatever the wind occasionally brought to his window. The breeze was chilly, and he wasn't used to it. Did he really turn into some kind of a canary, kept only for entertainment of others? That wasn't a pleasant thought, and he made himself to unthink it. 

He nearly finished coiling the cord into a neat bundle, when he heard the sound of hooves padded with hay. A hooded figure appeared from the dark, leading a saddled horse. A moment later, he saw Sona's pale face. When he helped her to climb onto the horseback in front of him, it was good to find out that her cape was woolen. It wasn't made out of Sona's hair. 

“Where are we going?” he asked softly, even though the street they were passing by looked deserted. 

“West gates.”

“And then?”

“North.”

“What is there?”

She fell silent, leaning against his chest. Somehow, her weight felt very noticeable. He made himself to unthink another unpleasant thought.

“I'm not sure. I know, that I need to go there. I know, we must go together, and I'm absolutely certain that I will find the way as we go. But I don't know the name of the place.”

“Is it far?”

“I don't know... It's ok, Huan is very strong, he can carry us to the horizon and back.”

“How did you name him?” for a moment his fingers went numb.

“I didn't. He came with this name.”

“Why did you buy a horse named Huan?”

“I didn't have much choice! It's a bit difficult to find anyone who would trade a horse after the sunset. What is wrong with his name anyway?”

“Nothing,” he said, pulling right. 

This whole little adventure looked staged, hastily staged. But how did she learn so much about Luthien's quest? These days, nobody in Minas Tirith believed that the Evening star was in fact a flying ship with a Silmaril on board. Only few people knew about the rope and the dog's name even three thousand years ago, who could have spoken to her now? And why? Was it a clumsy attempt to lure the willing prisoner out of his tower? He couldn't think of anyone who would still remember him. Who would want him that badly. 

They approached the West gates, they were shut of course. How could they not, in the middle of the night, when the damp putrid breath of Mordor became even more noticeable. 

“What now?” he asked.

“Who's there?” a guard called out. The others looked in their direction. 

“Let me deal with it,” said Sona and slid from the horseback. 

She stepped in front of Huan and stayed still for a moment. He already knew what was coming. Sona slowly raised her hands in front of her and started to sing. 

“Stop it!”

She stopped midword and turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were glowing like two bright stars. Not a mortal woman. A powerful enchantress. 

“If you make them fall asleep, you will leave the gates vulnerable. All these people sleeping behind those walls might die because of it.”

Sona considered his words.

“I will make them let us out, that's all,” she promised. 

One of the guards, first one to reach her, swang his sword and went completely still. The rest of them stumbled in their movements. Slowly they got back to their positions, and the mighty gates gave out a long sorrowful creak.

“I don't like it,” said Sona. “I don't like bending their will.”

“Just a bit longer,” he said looking intently for an opening between two gigantic doors. She started it, she might as well get it done. 

He made Huan leap into gallop even before there was enough space for the horse to fit through. He swept Sona back to her place in front of him, his muscles aching from the effort they were not used to. They dashed out of the gate, and he didn't allow Huan to slow down, until the dark shape of Minas Tirith was left behind far on the horizon. 

“I do not remember teaching you the songs of power,” he said brushing sweat from his forehead. 

“You didn't,” Sona tried to smile, but she was weak, she was so weak, she could barely move her lips. “It just came to me.”

He stared into her pale beautiful face. Luthien left Arda after her mortal path came to an end. All Men left. Nobody knew where those fea went. Somewhere away. As the legend went, Eru wasn't quite finished with the creation after Arda was made, so he moved on to some different project. To a whole new world. And there were many of them. If Men went on a long journey between the worlds, could one particular fea possibly come back? No, no, no, he couldn't have married Luthien. That would be so wrong for so many reasons. Even if it was a fake marriage! But on the other hand, she was here and she clearly needed his help getting to some unknown place in the North. 

Sona was lying in his arms, unable to stay upright. She was exhausted. What was it like for a girl to do something that took Valar to muster up all their efforts in order to repeat. She faced Morgoth, she fought him. She won. What was the cost? Was she lying in the arms of her mortal lover unable to move? Facing her death, until the Eagles came.

Was it his fate to follow her through a reforged version of her quest? His doom, or a mercy he didn't ask for? A price to pay finally named?

“Where should I take you?” he asked softly. Sona didn't look like she would be much help giving directions. He better get them before she got worse. “You saw a lot of maps in your library, give me a couple of names. Where should I go?”

It took a little while, but then her lips moved.

“Go west through the Gap of Rohan,” she whispered. “Then go north. You are looking for a small mountain valley. You'll know, when you find it.”

That was quite enough information for him to work with. He wasn't worried about finding the mysterious valley. He didn't have any food or weapons, his magic was severely depleted, there were Orks somewhere around, they always had been. He didn't know his horse, was Huan really that strong? Oh, and the girl in his arms was very weak, so he had to look after her as well. What were the odds they would make it even to the Gap? Small. Zeroish. He went nevertheless.

***** 

Huan ran as if the whole army of Mordor was on his tail. He never stopped, never slowed down, he lost a lot of weight and his coat was caked with dried mud, but he continued to run. Where did Sona get that horse? She complained that there was not much choice, but somehow bought an excellent breed with more that a few drops of ancient blood in its veins. They were terribly lucky. Patrols seemed to look the other way whenever a tired horse with two riders on its back appeared in the vicinity. Any orks they encountered were already dead. The weather got worse right behind their backs as if to discourage a possible pursuit. 

Seven days and seven nights passed, before he sensed a flimsy taste of familiar magic in the air. Elves lived nearby. Did Sona say that he will know when he get there? Now he saw what she meant. On the eight day an elven patrol stepped out of the mist. Golden-haired elf on a huge white horse looked slightly familiar. It was clear that he already recognized Maglor, but it was difficult to discern his intent.

“I am Glorfindel from the House of Elrond,” he said, and Maglor was too tired to get chills. “Welcome to Rivendell.”

Apparently, it wasn't a patrol, it was a welcome party. Elrond knew he was back, and all Maglor could think about was the girl who spent the last couple of days unconscious. Glorfindel looked at her thin white face and his expression darkened.

“It looks like we need to hurry,” said Glorfindel. “I have a fresh horse for you, let's get her to my lord as quickly as possible. He is a skillful healer.”

He left Huan with the guards and took the grey mare Elrond sent him. There was so much magic in the air, it was pouring into his every pore, filling those empty wells in his heart. Maglor spent so many years being drained up by the sigils on the walls of his prison, that it made him feel a bit lightheaded. The ride was short, and soon he saw white ornate buildings and an elf waiting for him on the steps, the one he never expected to meet again. 

“Who is she?” asked Elrond, taking Sona from him.

“According to the law of Gondor, she is my wife,” said Maglor, jumping from the horse and totally ignoring the looks he got for his confession. “But really she is just a friend I am helping out.”

“When did she become sick?”

“A couple of weeks before we left Minas Tirith.”

“I am not asking what you were doing in Minas Tirith, but I am definitely going to do it later,” said Elrond. 

Maglor shrugged. In the past he successfully avoided multiple questions coming from his foster sons. He didn't see any reason why he couldn't do it again. 

Gandalf, that old nosy fox, was there and followed them into a roomy bedroom along with a few elves Elrond deemed to be helpful. Sona was lying on a light duvet covering the bed Elrond put her on. Her simple dark blue dress looked even brighter on this beige background, her long hair spilled around her like a silky black cloak. Elrond sat at her bedside and gently brushed her damp forehead. Maglor stood at the foot of the bed, unsure what was required of him. Obviously, he wasn't going to leave, but what if he could help. 

“She looks like a cocoon ready to burst,” said Gandalf. He found himself a cosy armshair in the corner and sat there, looking as if he grew right out of its flowery upholstery. 

“A cocoon?!” Maglor glared at him. “What are you talking about, you old rusty...”

“Wait, father. Don't jump to conclusions,” said Elrond calmly. His hand was staying on Sona's forehead, his eyes closed as if he didn't want to get distracted. “How old is she?”

“Twenty four,” said Maglor reluctantly. What did it have to do with anything? Sona was very young, and until recently she was healthy.

“That is weird,” Elrond gasped.

“What is it? What do you see?”

“I see memories lying dormant in her head. They go far and far back. Too far, in fact. Are you sure she is that young?”

“I first met her when she was eight.”

Elrond shook his head slowly.

“Her memories go all the way back to the Years of the Trees. How is it even possible? Wait, there is something else here... Did you put a spell on her?”

“Is it hurting her?”

“No, actually it is helping... I'm not looking at any particular memory, we do want to maintain her privacy after all, but there is something she wants me to know. How exactly did you meet her?”

Could Luthien be holding onto her old memories after so many reincarnations? Well, at least that would explain why ancient past suddenly started to seep into the life of a mortal realm.

“She came to visit me, because she liked my songs,” said Maglor.

“She was looking for you, father. All those years... She wanted to come back to you.”

“I don't understand.”

“Because you never listen!” said Sona's voice, and the room was lit by a soft glow coming from her skin. Her dress couldn't contain it, and Maglor stared at her shining frame. The light grew stronger, and her lips moved again. “Our voices are too quiet, and Eldar can't hear us, not even one of you. Not ever. You change our fate without thinking, as if we were a piece of prized jewellery. You talk to animals and even trees, but it never occurred to any of you that stones can talk too.”

Maglor slowly fell on his knees. He was more willing to believe that Luthien came back to haunt him, rather than see what lay right on the surface all this time. How could he be so stupid?

“You turned one of my brothers into a star, and my second brother is forever asleep in the depths of Arda, because his heart is so broken. But I begged Lord Ulmo to give me this new body, this new voice you can hear, because I wanted to come back to you, and I wanted this time to be different.”

Sona of the Great Sea. A girl found by the seashore. How could he be so blind?

“We could have been together long ago, if only you had been a little more patient” Sona's voice broke slightly, as if she was hiding a sob. “After so many years you couldn't wait just a little longer. Both my brother and I _wanted_ to come into your hands, we wanted to go _home_ , and we knew that one of the Valar is able to hear us, but you and your brother had to rush in and spoil everything. I was so angry that I burned your hand.”

Maglor looked at his maimed flesh, forever melted by a Silmaril. 

“But now it's all over,” said Sona. “The quest for the Silmarils is finally over, I am back in your hands by my own will, and I will stay there as long as you are willing to hold me.”

“But can I?” he asked softly. “Can I actually do it?”

A weak smile appeared on her face.

“Before Lord Ulmo gave me this body, he took away all my memories, he made me forget the purpose of my journey. He said, that if you fail to listen, I will end my days like any other mortal and disappear from Arda forever. But if you commit to me, I will slowly become myself again.”

Maglor felt that his body went numb. He silently recounted every time it all could go wrong. He could have pretended he didn't recognize her, he could have sent her away with a few trinkets... After all, Maglor already had a wife, nobody but him remembered about, he shouldn't have entertained even a thought of marrying another woman. Even if that marriage existed only on the piece of paper Sona was carrying everywhere on her chest. 

Elrond said that his little spell was actually helping Sona. Maglor remembered the moment when he claimed Sona just for himself. That was when it all started. Her memories, her power began to come back. 

“What about this body?” Elrond asked suddenly. “It wasn't made to contain your light. Is this girl going to die?”

“I _am_ this girl,” said Sona. “But you are right, it did become too weak. I can't continue to exist in this tired flesh.”

Elrond immediately got up from her bedside. 

“I think, that whatever time you have left to talk to each other belongs to the two of you, and we are going to leave you to it.”

“How long do we have?” asked Maglor, when they were alone.

“How long do you want?” Sona opened her eyes and looked at him. Her light faded a little, and her irises were blue again. 

“Forever,” he said.

Sona smiled.

“Lord Ulmo gave me a parting gift. Should my quest become a success and this body becomes damaged by my power awoken, I can simply change my form, the same way he does, but only once. I could become a stone again or... Anything else.”

Maybe a bird or a dog? Maglor thought that he could learn any animal talk, except for probably fishes, that would be a tricky one. 

“I can't take you as my bride, for I am already married,” he said. “And people will start to talk if I become too close with a girl I met in the Middle Earth, so it would not be a good idea to turn into a woman again. But other than that, it is completely your choice.”

She gave him another smile.

“Help me out of this dress,” she said. “For some reason, it's more difficult to change form with something so close to your skin.”

He assisted her up and allowed her to lean on him again while he was unbuckling her clothes and helping it to slide from her body. When she stood naked, holding into his shoulders, he looked into her face again.

“Now close your eyes,” said Sona. “We don't want to blind you.”

He shut them firmly, saw a flash of light even through his eyelids, and suddenly Sona's body went completely limp against him.

***** 

He opened his eyes somewhere between catching Sona into his arms and putting her on the bed. Her shape didn't change much, so it took him a moment to realize that he was looking at a young elf. His face closely resembled Sona's, as if they were twins, his body was beautifully built, though not muscular. His hair was long and have a healthy gleam. Was it really Sona's new form? Not a bird, not a dog, but an elf. A man.

“Sona?” he said softly. 

The Silmaril slowly focused on him. The look in Sona's blue eyes was tired. It reminded Maglor that he hadn't slept properly for eight days. Short saddle naps didn't count, with his one hand clutching the reigns and the second keeping a death grip on Sona's unconscious body.

“I can see, this is not what you quite expected.” 

“Not really,” Maglor said honestly, “but I am happy all the same.”

“Good,” the Silmaril smiled contently. “I must stay like this for the rest of my existence, and it is important that you like the way I look.”

Sona's voice sounded a little raspy, as if he hadn't got a good grasp of it yet. 

“You look worn out, my love,” said Sona, and Maglor winced. “Come to me, let's have a rest.”

“Don't call me that,” he said, pulling the duvet from under the Silmaril and tucking him in. 

“But why?” Sona looked mildly surprised. “I do love you, that's why I came back. I want you to hold me...”

“Sometimes I forget that you used to be a stone, and then it sounds really weird,” said Maglor. “You look like one of us, so I perceive your words as if they were coming from an elf, not a Silmaril.”

He went to the door, stuck his head out and saw a couple of elves waiting nearby, an appropriately compassionate look on their faces.

“Would it be possible to get a bath in here?” he asked politely.

“I stink like a horse,” he told Sona, closing the door right in the face of two appropriately worried elves. “And I can't just change my form and become all fresh and clean like some of us here.” 

The bath arrived promptly, being brought in by a different set of elves, who were clearly losing the battle with their natural curiosity. Then came lunch. And two sets of clothes, one being smaller that the other, but both definitely men's. Sona stared at the servants, and they pretended that they didn't stare back. Poorly. They didn't have the gut to stare at Maglor, of course, but his Silmaril was a totally different story.

“There was a time, when I would kill anyone who looked at you like that,” he complained, massaging his head with lazy round motions. 

“I know,” said Sona. “I hope, it's all in the past now.”

“It is, indeed,” he agreed. 

He heard the Silmaril biting from an apple. He wondered if it was good. Was it the reason Sona chose this form? Small delights of flesh, unavailable to other living beings or perceived by them in a completely different way. Maglor finished his washing, got out of the tub and dried his body with a towel. He was working on his hair when he realized that Sona had been quiet for a while. He quickly turned, then relaxed for a moment, because the Silmaril was well and alive, staring at him, the apple long since disappeared. Then he noticed it. A rosy stem of half erect flesh raising between Sona's thighs. 

He turned away quickly, his ears burning. This is just a Silmaril, this is just a Silmaril, he told timself. That didn't help at all. Maglor finished his hair, slowly came to the bed and sat down. His head was empty, he had absolutely no idea what to say or to do. Ignore it? Pretend it never happened? They were alone, it was easy to look away, but what if Sona got excited again and someone noticed? 

Sona looked unabashed, as if the very idea of what was appropriate never visited him. He lived twenty four years as a female, Maglor thought. Maybe he just needed more time to readjust his thinking. 

“I'm sorry, I can't help it,” said Sona. “It has always been like that, but before it was less... obvious.”

Maglor thought of their future many years together. He really liked Sona, he found her exceptionally beautiful, he agreed to marry her even though he didn't really know her at the time... Did it mean that he was attracted to her? Now he knew that Sona actually was his long lost treasure and that they would spend the rest of their days with each other. And, despite a tremendous change, under this luminous skin it was still Sona. The same heart he learned to like during the past eight years. 

“My family is well known for taking things that don't belong to them,” he said awkwardly, “but I would like to give you something. The only thing that is truly mine. And you can stop me any time you like.”

He leaned forward and gave Sona a light kiss in the lips. Sona caressed his shoulders tentatively, then they clumsily locked their hands on each others backs. The next kiss was deeper, even though it felt foreign, Maglor trying not to think about the hot firm flesh pressing into his side. He swooped Sona into his arms and laid on the bed, carefully pushing the wave of black hair aside. He put himself on top, propping his weight on his knees and one elbow. His second hand he laid on the hard dick that wasn't his own and gently stroked, getting used to to its silky touch, to Sona flinching and softly gasping as if in surprise. It felt like walking across a swamp without a path but in a deep mist. Maglor nearly jolted when Sona pulled him closer, caressing with the second hand his own flesh, soft and completely devoid of vigour. That was almost too much pressure on his nerves, but then Sona began to glow. The same light he saw coming from the stone, was pouring out of Sona's skin and hair, slowly getting stronger, making him squint and then close his eyes. Sona said before that the Silmarils were not some prized jewellery, but they were a prize nevertheless, a valuable prize worth an entire kingdom. The prize who chose his hands and was hungry for the touch. Maglor moaned into the kiss and felt Sona's legs locking on his waist. He didn't mind. On the contrary, he wanted this particular Silmaril to crave no hand but his and remain like that for many thousands years to come.


End file.
